Joan

Chapter III

Cracking open a crust-sealed eye to glance at the time on my phone, I let out a satisfied yawn. One of the best things about being so active is that you're always worn out, therefore sleeping is amazing, the downside being, though, that you're a naturally active human being who cannot lie in bed for more than five minutes before spontaneously combusting.

Flinging the covers off, I slip on my slippers and ratty, fraying bathrobe that have both seen better days, and head downstairs to the kitchen where I happen to find mom already up and dressed for the day.

She's stirring some cream into her coffee when she greets me, "Morning,"

"That it is," I sit my ass on the counter, swing my long, limber legs to the front of me then twist behind to dig around for my mug in the cabinet. "Can I have a cup?"

Stifling a yawn first, she gives me one of her classic looks that roughly translates to "in your dreams, kid".

"Why would you ever need coffee? You're practically a Mexican jumping bean without it."

I pull my home-crafted mug anyway. "Just a little?"

Though she rolls her eyes, she gives in. "Fine, I don't have to deal with your hyperactiveness anyway."

"Hey, maybe this'll stunt my growth and maybe, just maybe I'll stop growing so much." That'd be great news for my boobs.

I'd like to think I look like my mother, but the only things I inherited from her are her full rack and brown eyes, everything else made up out of thin air- I could be adopted for all I know because I sure as hell don't look anything like my dad, at least not anymore. The only thing I wish I would have gotten from her, in all actuality, is her amazing, flaming strawberry blond hair. It could've just been my creative child mind, but whenever it would blow in the wind, it looked like it was some sort of crazy fire or something. Even as it's grown duller due to age, I'm still ooh-ing and aw-ing over it. But we always want what we can't have, don't we?

She merely shrugs as she takes a sip of her coffee.

"What are you thinking about doing today?"

"I dunno, maybe head over to grandma and grandpa's."

"So they can deal with your hyperactiveness?"

I smile, tongue-in-cheek. "Somebody has to deal with it. I can't always torture you guys."

Smirking at me, she goes to wash out her mug.

"Besides, I don't know when they're getting up," I say referring to my dad and brother. "So I might as well leave before I accidentally wake them up."

Mom and I are the early birds in this house- me, technically being the earliest bird- while Brent and dad sleep in. If they wake up before 10 o'clock hits then something's up. It's odd because while you'd think that not being an early bird automatically makes you a night owl you'd be wrong with those two. They're like evening hawks- strange creatures I tell you. The only time it really sucks is at Christmas when I'm forced to sit around and wait hours for them to get up.

"Well, if you're going over to grandma and grandpa's make sure you leave a note for them for when they do wake up."

"Got it."

Before she decides to depart, she gives me the sympathetical look I was trying to avoid all day yesterday with her.

"Are you over yesterday?" She asks, kind of defeating the purpose of her question.

"I mean, I was until you brought it up again."

Being my mom, she can sense when I become passive aggressive and so she holds up her hands, trying to pacify me.